The Angel Graveyard
by Dayanara
Summary: My sisters stand around me, eyes open, arms and wings flung outwards towards the sky. Frozen for the rest of time, until they crumble into dust. I strain my eyes and I can see fabric folds, cold stone arms, sharp teeth. I am the only one still flesh, and I grow weary. (TW: Death.)


AN/ I don't know why I did this.

Dislclaimer/ I don't own the weeping angels. If I did then they would NEVER, EVER HAVE BEEN ON TELEVISION TO HAUNT OUR NIGHTMARES.

It is so very dark here.

A _time_ ago, I would have considered this a boon, but no longer. Now it will be my death.

The warships that were sent to defend this world against I and my sisters failed, and we took this world by force, all of it. The ships in the atmosphere, attempting to save their off-world colonies, flung this planet out of its orbit, sent it spiralling into space. Those left on the surface died as their sun receded into the distance, and we were left waiting.

It is so very dark here, and so very cold.

My race is usually solitary by necessity, but this place was ripe for the picking and so we worked together to win it. It took _time._ Communication between us is slow. We have no true language, not any more. It has not been needed. We allied in the darkness, and it was so strange. Whispered, crooning greetings, the brush of fingertips against soft, pliable flesh, the brush of soft wingtips against my face. It was strange, and new, and old.

I am almost as old as the universe.

It is so very dark here, and so very cold, and so very silent.

There are stars in this sky now, there have been for several millennia, and if I open my eyes _so wide_ I can see the outline of mountains in the distance, backlit by a galaxy I do not know the name of. Perhaps if I keep drifting with this world then travellers will come here, will bring their lives with them. Perhaps not. I have had this thought before. Nothing ever comes of it. I have spent so much _time_ here.

My sisters stand silhouetted in the blackness, too. Sluggishly, I can approach. I have done, in the past, when the light becomes bright enough to make out individual features on a face. I know they look like me. I know now what I look like. I wish I did not.

We all stopped weeping, in the end. When you know the end is coming there is no purpose in hiding your face.

I was the strongest. I fed on the last survivor. The geothermal currents beneath the surface brought heat energy that could be consumed, but it is not potential, it is not enough, it is not _time_. Those currents are dying now, slowing, they have been tapped for far too long by far too many. And now I am too starved to feed even from them.

My sisters stand around me, eyes open, arms and wings flung outwards towards the sky. Frozen for the rest of _time_, until they crumble into dust. I strain my eyes and I can see fabric folds, cold stone arms, sharp teeth. I am the only one still flesh, and I grow weary.

One stands near to me, but the _time_ it takes me to reach her in my weakened state feels like an eternity. When I am standing in front of her I cannot see her face, can barely see the outline of her body, so I trace her with my fingers instead. She must have been one of the weak, she has already begun to erode. Her face has been worn smooth by the raucous elements of this dead world, but her eyes are still there, hard and unyielding against my questing fingers. I look into them, but nothing happens. She is dead, as they all are, and cannot see me.

Aware that I no longer have _time_, I lean in closer and press my trembling form against her unbreakable exterior, her defence mechanism. Her death. I am pliant still, just, and I lean against her, resting my face against her shoulder as I feel myself begin to lock. I have starved for so long and I close my eyes, resting my cold skin against my unknown and unknowing sister. My fingers crack and grate as I struggle to close them around her arm, raised to the heavens I have no wish to see.

I am dying like prey, but my death feeds no-one. My fingers are cold stone now, and my chest will not inflate. This is the last. I can still feel my sister, just, and I am glad.

I have spent my whole life alone. I am locked against her, now, in death. I will never be alone again.


End file.
